


Life Goes On

by Smokeycut



Series: History of A DC Universe [1]
Category: Batman - Fandom
Genre: AU, Angst, Batfam throughout the generations, Found Family, Gen, Time Period: The 20th Century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-10 23:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15302844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokeycut/pseuds/Smokeycut
Summary: Batman's story began in 1945, and it continued all the way to the end of the 20th century. But does it go farther than that? And does Bruce live to see the legacy he'll leave behind?





	1. 1945: The Year It Began

**Author's Note:**

> https://open.spotify.com/user/langton.erin/playlist/4Rm7ZcjAqqVVqMFr6haubJ?si=mMCmlqfqSN-GIOT7rc91BQ
> 
> I made a playlist for this fic! Each chapter has 3 songs, so feel free to listen along if you want!

**1945**

It hurt, when Bruce looked out the window and saw the city he grew up in. From his chair in the den of Wayne Manor, his parents'... _his_ home, rather, he had a perfect view of the city through a tall glass window. He saw the spotlights shine up on the heavy clouds in an attempt to help the dirigibles find their way through the night sky. He heard distant claps of thunder, followed by flashes of lightning. Rain beat against the window in a steady rhythm, and Bruce felt like weeping. 

He didn't know how he had survived for so long, living that way. Every day, he woke up well past noon, and even then couldn't drag himself out of bed and into his clothes for another hour or more. He hardly ate enough to keep himself alive, and all he did when he _was_ among the living was waste away at home. He had no purpose. No drive. No meaning. His heart felt empty, and his chest felt constricted by his own ribs, and he often found himself wondering what the point of it all was. Over the course of twelve years, he had watched the city he grew up in descend into a cesspool, ruled by gangs and corrupt police. He missed his parents every day of his life. He felt ashamed of the way he was living. If his parents could only seen him, aimless and alone. How disappointed would they be in their only son? How much would they hate him for failing to amount to anything more than a sad, pathetic rich boy who never did anything to help improve the lives of his fellow men and women. With each day that passed, Bruce could stand the monotony and shallowness of his life less and less and less. The only reason he was still _alive_ was because he knew how much losing him would hurt Alfred and Leslie. 

"What can I do?" he whispered, heartbroken. Every night he asked the same question of himself, and every night he found no answer. The rain continued to beat the glass. The thunder continued to clap. The city continued to sink further and further into its filth. But that night was different from all the other nights. Bruce just didn't know it yet. He held in his hands a copy of _A Study in Scarlet_ , unfinished even after he had begun to read it months ago. The old detective novel from his mother's collection would serve as one half of his inspiration that night in June. As for the other half...

The window shattered suddenly, and Bruce nearly fell from his chair. There was a screeching noise as the thunder clapped again. Rain soaked the carpet and he felt some of it splash against his face. He raised a hand as if to shield himself and he _saw it_. The bat that had crashed into his home. In that moment, it left its mark on Bruce, one that would last until his twilight years.

"Yes, father. I _understand_..." Bruce said to himself, his resolve shining for the first time in twelve long, aimless years. "I shall become a bat."

*****************************************************

"Bruce Wayne! What have you been doing with your nights?"

Bruce blinked in surprise as lights flashed in his face. Over and over and over, each time with a pop that reminded him it was cameras blinding him and not a spotlight. And Vicki Vale was holding her pen and paper in hand, waiting for a response. At least, he was pretty sure that's what was happening. He could barely hear her over the live jazz band that was performing at the police gala that night.

"I've been... Dealing with some personal issues, I guess you could say." It wasn't entirely a lie, he reasoned. "But now I'm finally ready to embrace all that Gotham's high society has to offer," he told her in that fake voice he had practiced all week. All light and bouncy and utterly _vapid_. He could hardly stand himself.

"The death of your parents, you mean?" Vicki asked. She was blunt, that's for sure. But in a way, he appreciated that. 

"Yes. But it's time that I put that tragedy behind me and moved on with my life. I'm not a little boy anymore, Miss Vale." Another half truth. He'd moved on, but he hadn't left it behind him at all. "Now, I think I'd like to hit up the dance floor. Care to join me?"

He'd dance to a few songs, chat with a few more people, pretend to drink a few drinks, and then he'd slip away when nobody was paying attention. There were more important things for Bruce Wayne to do than enjoy some party.

*****************************************************

He might have been crazy. He was hardly in his twenties and he was wearing a cape and cowl and a grey bodysuit that he hand stitched in the den of his parents' home. _His home_ , he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. His parents died when he was _eight years old_ and yet Bruce _still_ found himself thinking of them as though they were alive. Maybe that was part of why he was crazy. He laughed. A short, dry, _bitter_ laugh. One that could easily be mistaken for a cough. 

Bruce checked the yellow belt that hung loosely from his waist. Purple gloved hands vetted each pocket, making absolutely sure that the first aid supplies were still there. He'd more than likely end up needing them, considering what he was about to do. That night was an important night. The most important night of Bruce Wayne's young life. Halfway across the world, a war that had consumed the planet and took countless lives was nearing it's end. But in Gotham City, New Jersey, something new was just seconds away from beginning. An entirely new war, Bruce thought to himself. A war for Gotham City's soul, after decades of spreading corruption and crime and cruelty. A war that was, in some part, instigated by two shots from a mugger's gun over a decade prior. This action, on this night, was Bruce Wayne's retaliation. 

He took a deep breath, gripped the edges of his cape in his hands, and leapt off the building into the streets below. He felt like he was _flying_.

And when he landed, it was with a sickening _crunch_ as his boot stomped on the face of some Red Hood punk. The gangster crumpled just like that, but he had friends. Two other members of the Red Hood gang pulled their guns on him, and one more raced to toss their haul into the back of their getaway car. Instead of shooting at him, they just stared in shock and disbelief. Just as he had hoped. It was like some creature feature had come to life before their very eyes, and they were scrambling for clarity.

He reached out, grabbed the gunners by the backs of their masks, and slammed their heads together. While they were reeling, he punched one in the solar plexus as hard as he could. The other got a kick to the groin. Batman looked to the getaway driver, and found him fumbling to get the keys in the ignition. He scooped one of the pistols off the ground and hurled it at the driver in one clean motion. It connected with a dull thud, and he was out cold. 

The Batman left before the police arrived, and naturally, nobody believed a word that the gang members said about the supposed bat monster that attacked them. Criminals were a superstitious and cowardly lot, after all.


	2. 1965: The Boy Wonder

**1965**

Going to the circus had been, quite possibly, the worst decision of Bruce Wayne's adult life. Of course, of course, _of course_ there would be a double homicide right in front of him on the one night he took off. And of course there would be a ten year old boy left sobbing beside the lifeless bodies of his parents. His relationship with Julie was finished the instant that he ran off to seek justice for the boy. He didn't much care.

By the end of the night, Batman had put the fear of God into Tony Zucco, and dropped him off at the GCPD's doorstep with his hands in cuffs. Bruce Wayne was called in as a witness to the trial, as was Dick Grayson. When they were still at the circus that night, Bruce convinced himself to stay away. He told himself that Dick Grayson would be better off without a crazy man with a bat costume as his guardian. But at the trial, he saw the _pain_ in Dick's eyes. The rage. The resolve. He saw in Dick's eyes everything that he saw in himself. He knew, there and then, that he had to be there for Dick.

Bruce offered to make Dick his ward, and the boy, traumatized as he was, just nodded his head in absentminded agreement. Bruce did his best to care for him. He enrolled Dick in a good school, he stayed home from the galas and board meetings in order to make sure that Dick was fed and had company, but he still left each night. Always after Dick was in bed, though. He made sure of that much. 

Or at least he thought he did. But like anyone, Bruce slipped up. He didn't count on a child's lack of ability to sleep soundly during a thunderstorm, and he didn't remember to close to secret entrance to the batcave in his study. And so, when Dick went wandering around the manor in search of Bruce that night, he found a staircase where a bookshelf ought to be. 

The cave, in no uncertain terms, blew his little ten year old mind. Especially the giant penny. He had no idea why there was a giant penny. 

"Holy secret Batcave," he gasped. "This is soooo cool!"

*******************************************************

He didn't tell Bruce that he knew. Not at first, anyways. After touring the cave, Dick had retreated to his bedroom and spent the rest of the night drawing up costume plans in his journal. 

Dick went through all sorts of ideas over the next few nights. Batboy was his first idea, though it went out the window after he decided that the name was terrible. It was only after the initial bat-themed sketches had been trashed that he stumbled across the right idea. His mother always called him her _Robin_. He didn't exactly know why, but it could have been for a variety of reasons. How he never sat still, how he seemed to soar through the air on the trapeze, his habit of whistling all the time... Could have been all of the above. 

They wore green and yellow costumes, back in the circus. With the addition of red, like a robin's breast, Dick had found the perfect combination. He told Bruce that they needed fabric for a school project of his, and he asked Alfred to teach him how to sew. From there, he knew enough to put the costume together. 

Bruce was in his study after putting Dick to sleep, deciding whether or not to give Shondra a call before he went into the cave for the night. Dick sat outside his door, spying on him all throughout the call, waiting for the moment that Bruce would hang up and show him how to get into the cave. Whatever he expected, it certainly wasn't a big red button hidden inside a bust of William Shakespeare. And yet, that's exactly what caused the bookcase to swing open. After Bruce had gone down the steps and closed the passageway behind him, Dick sprang into action.

He waited just the right amount of time before he mimicked Bruce's actions to open the door to the cave. Bruce was at the bottom of the stairs when he heard it swing open again. He spun around, expecting to see Alfred, only to be greeted by the sight of Dick leaping into the air. The boy flipped through the air, landed on his hands on one of the steps, and then launched himself back into the air. When he had successfully reached the bottom of the stairs, vaulting over Bruce's head in the process, he grinned proudly at his mentor.

"What do ya think?" Dick asked. He struck a pose and showed off the costume he had designed. A black domino mask, a red tunic, green shorts and boots, and a cape with a black outside and a yellow underside. The kind of outfit you'd expect a kid to dream up.

Bruce just laughed. He didn't know what else to do. _Of course_ Dick had figured it out. He should have expected as much, really. Dick's smile faltered a bit at the sight, unsure of _what_ the laughing meant. 

"You're serious, aren't you?" Bruce asked, once he had finally quelled his laughter. "You want to be my partner?"

"Duh!" Dick said. "What kid wouldn't want to fight crime with Batman?!"

"You know what? Fine. I suppose you earned a ride-along, with your detective work," Bruce said with a smile. "Just tell me one thing. How did you figure it out?"

"That's a mystery for _you_ to solve!" Dick shouted. He was already sprinting for the batmobile. By the time Bruce joined him, Dick was bouncing up and down in his seat. 

Bruce wasn't an idiot, of course. He had a suspicion that Dick would catch on someday, he just didn't expect it to be so soon, or for him to attempt to become a hero himself. But he also wasn't just going to drive the kid into a shootout between the police and the Red Hood Gang. He'd stick to costumed rogues, the ones who just did it for kicks. Maybe Joker would get a kick out of it, and maybe it'd help Bruce _enjoy_ himself for once. It wasn't going to become a regular thing, though. It'd just be one night. Two tops.

Yeah, right.


	3. 1973: He's Magic

**1973**

Dick's eighteenth birthday was the first day he saw her leaping across the rooftops, golden cape flapping in the wind like a bat's wings. She caught his gaze from her position by a smoke stack and she waved at him. The first thought that raced through his head is that he'd never seen hair that _red_ before. It was long and curly and beautiful, and it suited her well. They made a silent agreement to patrol together that night, and she tried her best not to stare at his ass in those tight green shorts. Not that she succeeded in that endeavor, mind. 

She was good, that much was clear from the start. Based on the way she moved, how she favored kicks, the flourishes as she dodged, the elegant leaps between buildings... Ballerina. Definitely a ballerina. Her training was as clear as his own, in how it defined the way she handled herself in the field. He noticed that she worked without equipment, and so he offered a grappling hook and a few wingdings when they took a brief rest in an alley after dealing with some of Two Face's mooks.

"I can always get a new one," he told her with a smile. "And I'll talk with the boss about getting you some more gear. Does he know you're out here, uh... I never actually caught your name, did I?" he asked.

"Batgirl. And no, he doesn't. Not yet at least. But I don't think he'll mind once he sees me in action." She took the grappling hook and looked it over, checking it to see how it worked.

"Just aim at a ledge and pull the trigger," Robin told her. He hoped he sounded helpful, rather than patronizing.

"Why don't you just show me?" Batgirl asked, raising an eyebrow and beckoning him to come closer. 

Robin smiled, and he reached around her so that they were gripping the device together. He looked over her shoulder and prayed that she didn't notice him blushing. She did, but so was she for that matter. He guided her aim up a bit higher, until the gun was aimed at the ledge of a rooftop on the other side of the street. 

"And now... Just pull the trigger," Robin said softly.

She did. The grappling hook sailed through the air and pierced the ledge with a satisfying _chuk_. 

"And now?" she asked through a small, exhilarated laugh. Robin took a few steps back and grinned.

"Pull the trigger again. Oh, and don't forget to bring your feet up!" he added in a hurry. Luckily, she pulled them up in time to stop herself from smacking into the brick wall of the building after being pulled through the air. When Batgirl climbed up onto the rooftop, Robin began to race over to the building and flipped his way up the fire escape to meet her. 

Robin had a feeling that this was going to be an absolutely _super_ friendship.

******************************************************************

He had met the boy in an alley, the worst place to meet a child bar none. And yet, it was almost funny, in a way. In all his years as Batman, very few people managed to get the drop on him. And yet, some thirteen year old with shaggy strawberry blonde hair whacked him in the leg with a tire iron and called him a "big boob". He'd never been called a boob before.

He had planned on just taking Jason to an orphanage and being done with the matter. But as they sat in the batmobile, as Jason drummed along on the dashboard to _Long Train Runnin'_ as it played on the radio, Bruce realized that he couldn't just leave it at that. So he brought Jason back home, secret identity be damned. If Dick could know the truth, if Barbara could, then so could Jason. And so he filed the adoption paperwork and he gave Jason a home. A family. Jason had never had a real family before. 

The funny thing was, Jason didn't even know who Bruce Wayne was. There weren't any preconceived notions about how the playboy billionaire acted, how that clashed with his alter ego. Barbara hadn't believed it for a full three minutes, and she saw him unmask in front of her. But Jason... To Jason it didn't mean a thing. The real shock was that _Batman_ was going to be his father. 

Dick, for his part, couldn't have been more excited to gain a little brother. 

"You could use a haircut, though," he suggested, ruffling Jason's hair.

"What, so I can look like a boy scout like you?" Jason shot back with a grin and a playful shove. "So, if he's Batman," he said, pointing his thumb at Bruce, "Does that mean you're Robin?"

" _Was_ Robin," Dick corrected him. Jason raised an eyebrow in confusion, and Bruce nearly choked on his drink. Dick looked over his shoulder at his adoptive father and flashed his best choir boy smile. "What, did I forget to tell you? I'm hanging up the shorts when I go to college. I think I'll give Blüdhaven University a taste of it's own hero. Clark told me that story about The Nightwing and The Flamebird, and I figured Nightwing would make a great name."

"Wicked," Jason said. He was in awe. Never in his life did he expect to be there, in that moment, watching Robin, _the_ Robin, decide on his new identity.

"If you think it's the right decision to make, Dick, then I'll support you all the way," Bruce told him. He tried to hide his reservations about the decision, but Dick could hear it in his voice. 

"Relax, Bruce. I'm not pissed at you or anything. I just figured that since we don't always patrol together as often these days, I could switch things up a little. Figure out my own identity, who I want to be, while I'm at college. In the meantime..." he looked down at Jason and patted him on the back. "I think you've found a kid with the potential to take my place as Robin. Don't you?"

Bruce looked from Dick to Jason, then back to Dick. He sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. After a few moments of deep thought, he looked at Jason again. The redheaded preteen was bouncing on the balls of his feet with bated breath.

"Fine. But you'll need training before I take you out on patrol with me," he told Jason sternly. "And you have to do everything I tell you," he added, looking the boy directly in the eye.

"Whatever you say! Haha, oh man! _I_ get to be _Robin_?! This is the best day of my life!"

*****************************************************************************

"What do you think? Does this look terrific, or does this look _terrific_?" Jason asked, striking a pose and grinning madly. He had, as Dick requested, gotten a haircut. Not nearly as short and proper as Bruce's, but not too far off from Dick's own style, if an inch or so longer. His costume though... Suffice it to say he wasn't willing to wear the same one Dick had. He kept the red tunic, but wore a pair of emerald colored pants in place of the green shorts. His domino mask, gloves and boots were similarly green. His cape was longer than Dick's had been, and was fully yellow in color. 

"It suits you," Bruce said with a small, proud smile. "I'm glad that you're happy with it."

"Much classier than Dick's," Barbara added. She was straddling a motorcycle by the cave exit, and leaning forward on the handlebars.

"Looking good, Little Wing," Dick chimed in last as he exited the batcave's dressing room. He had a new costume of his own, to match his new codename. A dark blue bodysuit and domino mask. A brighter blue pattern formed an X across his chest, leading up to a popped collar, and a matching belt ran along his waist. The gloves and boots were similarly blue. Finally, golden accents followed along the upper half of the X shape, completing the look.

"You too, Dick!" Jason told him. His eyes drifted over towards the Batmobile and his face lit up even brighter. "So, we ready to rock, or what?"


	4. 1976: A Death In The Family

**1976**

It rained on the day of Jason's funeral. Dick had been hoping for sunshine. Jason always loved sunshine. Over the course of those three short years, Dick had come to associate Jason's favorite weather with the boy wonder. The day of the funeral though... Ever since that day, Dick couldn't help but think of Jason when it rained. 

It was a nice service. They had that much, at least, even if Dick couldn't remember a word that was said. He talked a bit himself, about how much he had loved his brother. How the young boy had a passion for life that reminded Dick of his younger self. How he hoped that Jason was happy, up in heaven. He even told Jason's favorite joke. The rain beat down on the black umbrella that Dick held over his and Barbara's heads. Bruce stood a few feet away, near the rabbi. The rain had soaked him completely, but Bruce didn't even seem to notice. Dick couldn't be certain, on account of all the rain, but he had a nagging feeling that their father was crying. In all the years that Dick had been in Bruce's care, he had never seen the man cry. He never wanted to. He wished he never had. And yet, he did.

Nobody spoke as the crowd dispersed. Any condolences had already been offered in the days before the service. He saw Kate leave with her partner. Bette hugged Bruce before she left. James and Sarah nodded silently to Barbara and Dick as they got in their car and drove home. Dick offered one final look at Bruce while he stowed Barbara's wheelchair in the back of their van. He waved goodbye. Bruce didn't wave back. It was okay though, Dick didn't blame him.

Jason was buried with Alfred, Martha, and Thomas. 

****************************************************************************

Bruce hadn't put on the cowl since the night Jason died. He just couldn't bear it. Whenever Dick tried to talk to him about it, Bruce would just look Dick in the eyes and tell him he was too old to keep the myth alive. Two deaths had given birth to the Batman's legend, and one death brought an end to his part in it. On the brighter side of things, a few months later, Bruce seemed to start dating again. He met some doctor, a woman named Victoria, and she seemed to be good for him. Dick was happy for that much, at least.

The costume began to gather dust over the weeks that followed the funeral, but Dick kept the cave in use. He tried to stick to the shadows a bit more often, to keep the myth alive all on his own. In all the pain and confusion, not many people noticed the difference between Nightwing and Batman. 

Still, he wished that at the very least, Barbara could still accompany him out in the field. She had tried to keep going, to keep Batgirl on Gotham's streets, but being diagnosed with SMA was a fight that couldn't really be won. She was using a wheelchair months before Jason's murder. She still helped out, of course. She'd never have been content just doing nothing. From the cave, she acted as his eyes and ears, monitoring the goings on of Gotham's criminal element. But still, there was no Batman out there. No Robin. No Batgirl. Only Nightwing. That said, all the people of Gotham knew was that a dark figure still burst forth from the shadows and saved the lives of innocents. That was all they needed to know.

But Gotham's costumed criminals knew the difference. They weren't fooled in the slightest. Three of Gotham's heroes were gone. Joker, in the short amount of time that he was in Arkham before he met his end in the electric chair, had bragged about how he murdered the teenager. None of them had believed him, not at first. But then Batman and Robin stopped arriving to thwart their typical acts of chaos. Only Nightwing. And he didn't talk as often as he usually did, either. None of his jokes, none of the banter, none of the fun. It was just business. They weren't used to that.

It was in late October that Dick picked up a report that Riddler had kidnapped a man and a woman. He tracked the criminal mastermind down easily enough. He was hiding out in one of his old haunts, the set of a gameshow called Cluemaster. Jason used to have so much fun making fun of the show's host. When Nightwing pulled up in his motorcycle outside the building, he got a feeling deep in his gut that something wasn't quite right. Still, he forged on ahead, walking through the front door. Riddler always played games with them, but he always played them fairly. There was no need to come sneaking in when it came to him.

When he stepped in, onto the set, Nightwing saw Riddler just standing there. Right behind the host's podium, holding his head in his hands and looking as though he had already been defeated. No hostages were in sight. He looked up upon hearing the sounds of the vigilante's footsteps on the linoleum, but his expression didn't change.

"Where are the hostages, Riddler?" Nightwing called out as he approached the golden stage. Lights flashed on the floor beneath Riddler, and bulbs lit up on the show's sign above his head, but there was no sound. No muffled cries, no bouncy music, and no bombastic introduction from Riddler as to the nature of his game for the night.

Instead, the man dressed in the green suit simply looked at Nightwing and sighed. 

"There are no hostages. I'm afraid I lied, Nightwing. I faked the radio transmission, and made sure that only your equipment could pick up on it. Batman... He's not with you, is he?" Riddler asked, his voice shaking, uncertain.

"Just me," Nightwing answered, his own voice as cold and hard as steel. "What's the plan, Riddler? Why'd you lure me here?"

"I just wanted someone to talk to, I suppose..." Riddler stepped away from the podium, towards a large prize wheel on the opposite end of the stage. He reached out with one hand and spun it gently. "Five months, thirteen days, seven hours, since I last broke my way out of Arkham. I stayed a few feet ahead, this time. Always planned for a way out whenever you or the others came to foil my little schemes.

"I heard the rumors before I left. I didn't believe them, not at first. But then I realized that... That something isn't right, anymore. It used to be so much fun, didn't it?" he asked, though he wasn't really asking. "We caused a bit of trouble, and then you folks showed up to put an end to it. Then we'd bust our way out and start it all over again. No one ever hurt anybody. Not really. Nobody died. You look around these days, and it's all different. It's all _changed_..."

"Eddie..." Nightwing said gently, his voice cracking. He walked a few steps closer as the wheel ticked to a stop. Grand prize. A million dollars. Yipee.

" _The Joker killed a child, for God's sake!_ " Eddie Nygma cried out, clutching his chest and fighting back tears. "Did... Did I _miss_ something?" he asked, turning to look at Nightwing once more. "Was I _away_ when they changed the rules?"

Nightwing approached him, and offered him a hand. Riddler said nothing more, and took it. They both blinked away tears and Nightwing tried his best to offer a reassuring smile. He couldn't muster it, but Eddie saw the attempt. He appreciated it.

"I think I'd like to go back to Arkham," Eddie whispered. "I think I'd like to get some help."

"We can manage that, Mr. Nygma," Nightwing promised him. "Come on, I'll take you there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riddler's dialogue was paraphrased from Neil Gaiman's Riddler story, "When Is A Door?". It was just too fitting not to reference.


	5. 1987: Gotham Without Batman

**1987**

Gotham City used to be a happier place. 

Carrie Kelley stood outside of the arcade on Puckett Avenue and watched the sky. It was only August, but it felt like Fall had already come to Gotham. The sky was cloudy and grey and the air was cold enough for her to wear a jacket and scarf and she could have _sworn_ the leaves were already beginning to die. Made sense to her. Wasn't like anything lived long in Gotham anyway. 

Five of the students at her school had already died in the past two years. Professor Pyg got three of them. The fourth got involved in the Red Hood gang and was shot by some rookie cop a few weeks later. Ratcatcher got the fifth. Carrie shuddered at the thought of what that must have been like. 

She adjusted her green-rimmed glasses and checked her wrist watch. It was past five, and her parents still hadn't shown. Realizing that they had once again forgotten to pick her up, Carrie sighed and went back inside the arcade. May as well squeeze in a few more games on Double Dragon before walking home, she figured. Not like her mom and dad would notice her coming home late anyways. They never did. 

She dropped a few quarters into the machine slot and furrowed her brow as the game started. _Born In The U.S.A_ came on over the radio and she almost laughed. People always seemed to think it was a patriotic song, but she wasn't dumb enough to miss the irony in Springsteen's voice. She tapped her toe along to the beat of the drums as she tore her way through enemy after enemy. It was almost soothing. But escapism can only last for so long before you get dragged back to reality, something Carrie knew all too well.

She heard a woman scream from outside, and she abandoned her game in a heartbeat to see what was happening. Some creep with greasy green hair and a dollar store clown mask had a knife to a little girl's throat. The girl was crying. Her mother was pleading with him. He was _cackling_. Carrie felt sick. 

She didn't even think, she just acted without realizing what she was doing until it had already been done. Next thing she knew, the Joker wannabe was shoving the little girl away and holding a hand over his eye. He ran off, his blood dripping onto the sidewalk. Carrie's slingshot was in her hands. Her blood was pumping, her heart was racing, and she felt good. 

She felt _damn good_.

*****************************************************

Her parents didn't say a word when she got back that night. They didn't ask about the bags of fabric in her hands, and her mother didn't notice whenat Carrie dragged the sewing machine and a pair of scissors back to her bedroom. It was just as well, really. Carrie didn't _want_ them to know about what she was going to do. With a twinge of sadness, it occurred to her that they likely wouldn't care even then. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that her life was going to change for the better, and soon.

She didn't know much about what Robin had worn back in the day. She was still just a kid, back then, and it was all just rumors anyways. Nobody had proof that there even was a Robin. So she looked to a fashion magazine that was laying next to her bed, and she rooted through that for inspiration. 

She cut the fabric up and stitched it back together until she had a vest that was redder than the hair on her head. A bright yellow cape followed, and she sewed it onto the vest by the shoulders. A small black "R" went over the breast of the shirt, and she dug a pair of green bike shorts out of her closet to wear with it.

When she looked at herself in the mirror that hung on her door, Carrie nearly cried. She felt strong, for the first time in her life. She felt like she had a purpose, a _mission_. She was going to save people. None of her classmates would lose their lives, no children would be threatened with a knife in the middle of the street, and no psycho with a gimmick was going to _hurt_ people and get _away_ with it anymore.

But while she marveled at herself in the mirror, across town, someone else was already dealing with the problems she dreamt of fighting.

Shawn Veidt sat on the fire escape of some man's apartment. He was dead though, so Shawn wasn't worried about getting harassed into leaving. Besides, the guy had it coming. Who still wore bell bottoms in that day and age?

"What an embarrassment," Shawn laughed to himself as he wiped the blood off of his knife and onto his jeans. He scratched at the bandages that covered his injured eye. They were _itching_ too much.

"Far as I can see, the only embarrassment here is you, Shawn."

Before he could even demand that the voice tell him who it belonged to, a boot stomped down on Shawn's left hand and shattered more than half of the bones in it. He cried out in pain, but still had enough thought left in his head to plunge his knife into the leg of his attacker. The man made no noise as the blade tore his costume and flesh. Instead, he just backhanded Shawn, then grabbed him by the shirt and threw him back through the window and into the apartment. 

"Who the fuck are you?!" Shawn cried out as he tried to scramble away from his pursuer.

"Who am I? I'm the guy who is _sick_ and _tired_ of seeing people like _you_ ruin this city," the man seethed. "Little Joker wannabes keep popping up all over. Thing is, you don't seem to realize that if he were alive today, if he saw you ripping off his shtick? You'd be dead already." 

He pulled a slender black stick from a holster on the back of his waist and brought it down on Shawn's shoulder, cracking the bone in two. Shawn screamed again, and he stopped trying to get away. He knew there was no chance. He just kept whimpering and blubbering as the vigilante stood above him. Shawn looked up, and finally got a proper look at him.

There was blood running down the man's calf from the stab wound, though it hardly showed through the black material of his costume. For that matter, the only splash of color on the entire black bodysuit was a deep blue symbol on his chest in the shape of a bird spreading its wings. A black domino mask covered his eyes, and he had long, wavy black hair that just barely reached his shoulders.

"I'm Nightwing," he told Shawn before hitting him one last time. By the time Shawn woke up, he was handcuffed in an ambulance, and instead of Nightwing, it was a uniformed cop keeping him company.

*********************************************

There was a woman who stood outside of the arcade. She wore a long black coat, and had a gasmask over her face, to keep out the toxic fumes. She kept an arm under her coat, but anyone who noticed the tank on her back would be able to tell what she had hidden. She pulled out the flamethrower, stepped inside, and aimed it at the first teen she saw. Her mouth curled into a smile beneath the mask. Her holy mission was just about to begin.

Before her finger could squeeze the trigger, a small stone struck Firefly’s mask, cracking the glass lense over her right eye. She growled and swung her head around. Whoever it was that had attacked her, they would be her first offering. She aimed the flamethrower at the young girl in red and green and shot a spurt of flame in her direction.

Robin dashed beneath the stream of fire, just barely managing to avoid catching her costume on fire, and shot towards Firefly. She crossed her forearms and tackled the firebug, ramming straight into her stomach and knocking her to the ground. But as she rose up afterwards, Firefly swung the gun and knocking her upside the head with the barrel of it. 

“Insolent whelp! You dare interrupt me?!” Firefly cried out in rage as she stood back up. “The Goddess must be fed, girl. She must. Be. _Fed_.”

“The what?!” Robin rubbed her head where she had been struck, trying to clear the ringing in her ears and steady herself. When she looked back at Firefly, she saw the barrel of the gun aimed right at her, and her eyes went wide. Instinct took over, and she bolted for the door. When she was outside again, with the cool night air blowing over her and running through her flaming red hair, Robin looked back, and saw Firefly chasing after her into the street.

And that was when Nightwing dropped down on top of Firefly. His boots connected with her shoulder and Robin heard a _crack_. Firefly screamed, and began spraying fire blindly in her rage. Robin could only watch in awe as Nightwing fought the rogue. He flipped and somersaulted around Firefly’s attacks, not once being licked by the flames. 

While Firefly was distracted, Robin loaded another rock into her slingshot, took aim, and fired. The shot glanced off of Firefly’s forehead, and gave Nightwing an opening to punch her in her broken shoulder. Robin fired again, and managed to cut Firefly’s fuel line. With the flamethrower out of commission, Nightwing lifted Firefly into the air and slammed her back down onto the pavement, ending the fight.

“That was _so cool_!” Robin exclaimed as she ran up to Nightwing. She leapt into the air and went to high five him, only to hit air. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked pointedly, grabbing her by the wrist and scowling at her. His voice was low and seething. 

Carrie looked up at him, confused and hurt. Why was he angry at her? She had just helped a real life superhero take out a villain, so what was wrong? But her words failed her, and she just stared like a deer in headlights.

“I said, what the hell do you think you’re doing, picking a fight with Firefly like that?! You could have gotten yourself roasted alive!”

“I-I’m sorry!” Carrie said. She felt sick. “I was just trying to help! Like Robin, you know? Batman and Robin?”

“There’s no such thing as Batman, kid,” Nightwing said, looking down briefly, before returning his gaze to her. 

“Then who are you?” She asked.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” he told her, releasing his grip on her wrist. He looked around, and saw a crowd begin to gather. He scowled, pressed a hand against Carrie’s back, and led her away from the scene.

“Where are we going?” She asked, beginning to panic as he led her to an alley. 

“Home. _Your_ home, wherever that is. You’re done for the night, and every night from now on. No more playing dress-up,” Nightwing said gruffly.

“W-wait! Hold on!” Carrie said, digging her feet into the ground and refusing to budge another inch. She whirled around and poked Nightwing right in his chest symbol. “I just helped you take down that psycho! Why are you treating me like some kid!”

“BECAUSE YOU ARE ONE!” Nightwing shouted. 

The two of them stopped, and silence hung between them after Nightwing’s outburst. Finally, he sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. Carrie’s posture shifted, becoming smaller and less certain.

“I just wanted to be a hero,” Carrie whispered.

Nightwing’s expression softened, and he reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him and fought back tears. She just didn’t understand.

“Everyone wants to be a hero, Ro-” he caught himself, before calling her that name. “Everyone wants to be a hero. But more often than not, trying to be a hero will just get you killed.”

“Then why are you doing it?” she asked weakly. 

But they both knew the answer.

“Just… Just give it up, kid,” he said softly, pleading with her. “You may not have gotten hurt too bad tonight, but I can see the bruise on your head. Who's to say that it won’t be worse next time? Who’s to say you won’t be just as much a victim as the kids you were trying to save.”

“But I did save them. _We_ saved them. Like… Like Batman and Robin,” she said. Her voice cracked, and the tears in her eyes began to flow freely. 

Nightwing wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight as she sobbed. She struggled for a moment, tried to pound her fists against his chest, but she gave up after a few moments. He began to cry too, though she couldn’t see his own tears.

“Batman and Robin aren’t around anymore for a reason,” he whispered. “And I can’t watch another kid run off to… I can’t watch another kid run off to _die_. Not again. Just go home, kid. Live a normal life. Make friends, go to school, be a _kid_. Don’t be Robin. Do the things my baby brother never got to do. Please…”

“B-But… I can’t just keep living like this,” she cried. “My mom and dad don’t even know I’m gone. They don’t even care. If I did die, they wouldn’t care…”

“Do they feed you?” he asked, realizing just how skinny the girl was for the first time. How hungry she looked.

“Sometimes…”

Nightwing thought for a moment, and he came to the exact same conclusion that Bruce had come to twice in his own life. He pulled away from Carrie, knelt down, and looked her deep in the eye. 

“I’m going to take you home, okay? I have to, but… Look, I promise that you won’t have to stay there much longer. I’ll make some calls, and see if I can find you a real family. A good one.but you have to promise me you won’t put that costume on ever again.”

“Only… Only if you stop wearing that one too,” Carrie demanded. “If I stop, so do you.”

“Alright,” he promised.

Carrie nodded, and when he asked for her name, and where she lived, she told him. He called Child Protective Services right then and there, and she watched as he told them about the neglect her parents made her suffer through. How he found her out on the streets, all alone at night. How she hadn’t been fed, and how her parents didn’t even seem to care that they hadn’t seen her in two days. He told them that he was going to take her back home, and they promised to send someone to meet them there.

By the end of the week, Carrie was moving into her new home. Her foster mother was a woman named Barbara, Babs, she told Carrie to call her. She said that her family called her Babs. She had red hair and glasses, and for a second Carrie wondered if the woman was related to her somehow. Then she met the woman’s husband, Dick. Except she had met Dick once before. 

She couldn’t stop smiling as they brought her home.


	6. 1997: A New Batfamily

**1997**

It had been ten years since there was a real hero in Gotham. There were still bat sightings, of course there were, but they weren't real. Anyone who actually looked over the evidence would be able to see that. Plain as the nose on their face. There were no bats. No birds. Some people, people who once believed, started to doubt that they ever existed at all. They edited the shadowy figures out of their memories, convinced themselves that it had just been a trick their eyes played on them as they struggled to free themselves from their unfortunate situations.

Tim Drake still believed. He was just a teenager, a teenager with friends and family, but no reason for living. He kept himself alive with theories and ideas. Fantasies about meeting the Batman, or figuring out if there really were a secret order of Robins in the city. When he was still just a boy, just five years old, he recalled flashes of being saved by a man in all black and blue who seemed to live in the shadows. Nothing, nobody, could convince Tim that that wasn't real. He believed. 

Late at night, after his parents had gone to bed, Tim would hop on the family computer and spend hours trawling web pages dedicated to proving that Batman was real. Blurry photos from the seventies, security footage from the eighties... His favorite, one that he printed out and pinned on the wall next to his bed, was a picture of a redhead in a bright red tunic and green tinted glasses, leaping through the night sky without a care in the world. That picture, more than anything, fueled Tim Drake's faith in Gotham's legends.

But faith alone couldn't change the world. Actions could. Too bad for Tim Drake that he didn't know how to put his faith into action. Until he met her, that is.

It happened when he was walking home from the movies. Harper had dragged him and Stephanie along to watch _G.I. Jane_ with her. Far from his kind of movie, and it was awkward being sandwiched between his ex and their friend, but he had made a promise to Harper. Sure, it was all just a way for her to oogle Demi Moore, but it wasn't like he had anything better to do than tag along. But after the movie, while Steph and Harper were climbing into Harper's truck, Tim declined their offer for a ride home. Said he'd rather walk. He always did. No real reason, just an innate desire to be a part of the city he grew up in. Maybe, he hoped, he'd catch a glimpse of one of Gotham's guardians. 

Or maybe he'd come across a girl, around his age, huddled up on the sidewalk by a coffee shop. She had a cup of tea in her hands and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She watched him intently as he neared her. Her eyes, dark and bright, and peering through tangled black hair, seemed to pierce right through him. She looked up at him like she knew everything about him. Things even he didn't know. And without knowing why, Tim slowed his pace, until he came to a stop in front of her.

"Uh, h-hey," he stammered. "Are you, um, are you okay?" he asked, extending a hand.

The girl continued to study him for a moment or two more, then reached out to take his hand... only to pull him down to the ground beside her. She flashed the slightest of smiles, and leaned back against the building, looking skyward. Tim followed her gaze, and saw that she was watching the moon. He sat with her, for how long he didn't know. It could have been an hour, it could have only been five minutes. But sitting there on the cold, hard ground with the girl, gazing up at the full moon, Tim felt something. Like something had just changed, and that somehow, that moment right there was going to forever alter the course of his life.

"My name is Tim," he eventually admitted to her. He turned his head to look over at her, and she turned to look at him. 

She opened her mouth slightly, and her brow furrowed. Her tongue pressed up against her two front teeth and she mimicked the motion his mouth made as he spoke his name. She repeated the motion a few times, without sound. Then, as if in response, she raised her fist and waited for him to bump it with his own, and grinned when he did.

"Do you speak English?" he asked, only just realizing how dumb it was to ask that after the words had already left his mouth. No matter what her answer was, it was likely offensive to ask. 

But she didn't answer. Instead, she just tilted her head in confusion. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but the only sound she made was a low, gutteral noise, from deep in her throat. Her voice was soft and scratchy, and it occurred to Tim that perhaps, she didn't speak any audible language at all. 

"Are you deaf?" he asked, recalling what ASL he had learned at school by that point. 

Her eyes lit up, not necessarily in full comprehension of the signed words, but in fascination. There was a small sense of understanding, in that moment. Like someone who had stumbled through the dark for years and years, finally seeing a light. The girl, whoever she was, wherever she came from, latched onto those movements of his hands, as if they were the first words she had ever heard. 

"Do you want to come to my house?" he signed. "It's warm, and safe there."

The girl grinned from ear to ear, and she followed him home with a bounce in her step. She shadowed him the entire way, walking just behind him and mirroring his every movement, almost as if playing a game. By the time they arrived at the Drake household, it was past ten at night. Tim's father was already in bed, but his stepmother was sitting in the kitchen, sipping at a drink until she heard the front door open.

"You walked home again, didn't you?" she asked, frowning slightly. "You know it's dangerous out there at night, Tim. Why didn't Harper give you a ride? Wait... Who is that you've got with you?"

"I just met her tonight. She was alone, Dana. She didn't have anywhere to go, and we've got the guest bedroom... I didn't think it'd hurt anyone to put her up for a few nights. Please?"

"...Alright," she said, looking over Tim's shoulder at the girl. She was looking around the room, filled with curiosity. She seemed to like the place. 

"Thank you! Thank you so much, Dana." Tim hugged her tight, then moved on to show the girl to her room.

In the morning, Tim and Dana argued their case to Jack, Tim's father, as to why they should keep her under their roof. He didn't take as much convincing as they expected him to. Perhaps, when he looked at the girl, he saw the same thing in her that they did. A girl who was lost and alone in the world. A girl who, as it would turn out, had been through a hellish childhood that left her body covered in scars. A girl who had come to Gotham, whether she realized it or not, for a _reason_. 

The guest room quickly became _her_ room, and she began taking ASL classes, as did the rest of the family. She was a fast learner. It wasn't long before Jack Drake found himself filing paperwork to officially bring her into his family. For the first time ever, she had a name written down on paper. A document that proved she was a real person, someone who actually _existed_. 

"Harper, Steph, Duke... This is Cassandra," Tim said, the first time he introduced her to his friends. People who would quickly welcome her into their group, and make her feel as though she had always belonged there.

***********************************************************************

"Who is that?" Cassandra asked, looking at one of the pictures that was pinned to Tim's wall. It was a sketch he had made of Batman, based on all of the information that he could find. Long ears rising from his head, with a golden emblem etched into his chest and long talons reaching forward from his hands. Her fingers followed along with the flow of the drawing's cape and her mouth curled up into a smile.

"Batman," Tim signed to her. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "He's this old urban legend. Some people say he's a monster. Others think he's just a guy in a suit. But one thing's for certain... He saves lives."

"Batman..." Cassandra repeated. She insisted that Tim tell her more, and over the next few nights her obsession with the figure grew, until it eclipsed even Tim's. Eventually, she came to her adoptive brother late at night and tossed something on his bed.

It was a black mask, with long, slender ears rising up from the head. Where a hole would normally reveal a mouth, she sewed it shut with golden thread. 

"Cass, you're not... You're not serious, are you?" Tim asked, sitting in shock as he held the mask in his hands.

"I'll be Batgirl. You be Robin." She grinned, as if it was really just that simple. 

"We'd get ourselves killed," he muttered to himself. Cassandra dropped down into the chair by Tim's desk and stared at him expectantly, until he repeated his reservations in ASL.

"I'll train you," Cassandra told him with a shrug. "I know how to fight."

That was the first time she had ever told him something about her past. 

*************************************************************************

"Okay, so... I mean, I guess we're actually doing this, huh?" Duke said, holding his head in his hands. "I mean... Fully on board here, don't get me wrong. I agree that Gotham is a screwed up place, it could use a few superheroes. But we're _totally_ going to die."

"Totally," Harper said with a worrying, madcap grin. "I got dibs on Bluebird, by the way."

Cassandra looked at the group they had assembled with pride. Harper was leaning back against a tree, running a hand through her purple and blue hair while gripping a taser in her other hand. Stephanie was sitting beside Duke on a park bench, deep in thought. Duke was conflicted, tugging on one of his dreadlocks as he weighed the likeliness of them all dying horribly. Tim stood beside Cassandra, watching his friends with a sense of excitement. They had already finished making costumes for themselves, and Duke had promised he'd look for a safe place for them to stash their things, but the group had yet to actually _do_ anything yet. For the time being, they met in Robinson Park every night so that Cassandra could teach them how to fight.

"Have you found somewhere yet?" Steph asked Duke. "I prefer not to keep my stuff at home, where my dad could find it. I've been keeping it at Harper's in the meantime."

"I might?" Duke admitted. "I was looking at a city map at the library, and this woman came up to me and asked what I was looking for."

"You didn't tell her, did you?" Tim asked, worried.

"No! I just said I was looking for some secluded parts of the city to explore. Like, caves and shit. She said there was one not too far away from Wayne Manor."

"Wouldn't hurt to check it out," Harper said, shoving her taser in her backpack. "C'mon, let's go, bat-kids!"

"If we call ourselves that, I'm quitting," Duke told her as everyone walked off in the direction of Harper's van.

"No quitting allowed," Cassandra signed with a small, silent laugh.

****************************************************************************

When they found the cave, not a single one of them had words to describe the experience. There were whispered gasps and at least one "My God", but mostly... Mostly, they just stared with wide eyes and open-mouthed awe. 

It only took Harper a few days to get the cave's systems working properly again. With some help from Tim and Stephanie, the group figured out the computer's unique operating system, and they were all set up to pick up 911 calls. The vehicles in the cave were still in perfect shape, and there were entire chests full of equipment for them to take and use as they pleased.

The cave wasn't far from Tim and Cassandra's home, and as it would turn out, there were hidden routes to the batcave all throughout Gotham. Routes that Harper, Steph, and Duke found with ease, once they knew where to look. And so, within just a few short weeks, Gotham's new protectors were ready to take on their generation's boogeymen.

"What have we got tonight, Blue?" Spoiler asked as she hopped onto a bike that had a shiny new coat of purple paint. 

"Ventriloquist was spotted at Amusement Mile. Eight hostages, but no mooks helping him out. Who wants it?" Bluebird asked. She was leaning over the batcomputer, reading the information as it came in. She slipped a taser pistol into her side holster, preparing to leave with the others.

"Tim and I can take him!" Duke called out from the changing rooms. He pulled on his yellow motorcycle helmet last and jogged over to his own bike, with Robin following behind him.

"Alright then. We've also got... Cluemaster!" Harper called out.

"Mine!" Steph demanded.

"You know where his old game show set is. And that just leaves the Red Hood Gang for me and Cass. You ready to go stop some bank heists, babe?" Harper asked, looking up at the cave ledge up above where Cassandra was perched. Batgirl nodded, and then made her way to the batmobile.

The five drove off into the night, filled with equal parts hope and determination. The two things that were needed by all of Gotham's guardians throughout it's history. If Bruce Wayne had been alive, he'd have been proud to see them uphold his legacy. Like him, they turned their pain and their dissatisfaction with Gotham's decaying state into a drive to fight back against the tide of corruption and chaos. 

Miles above the cave, in Wayne Manor, Carrie Kelley glanced at the grandfather clock as the hands struck eight. She couldn't hear the rumble of their engines, and she couldn't see the teenage heroes gearing up, but a feeling in her heart told her that news would be made shortly. She settled down to watch some television with her adoptive family, and she smiled to herself. She had been down into the cave a few days earlier, and saw that someone was painting the motorcycles.

She was glad that Duke had found the cave alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! I hope you like this finale, everyone. This is a story idea that I've had kicking around for a while, and I'm glad that I finally got it all out there. Unfortunately, I couldn't fit everyone into the story (sorry Damian), but I'm happy with this AU. I managed to put several headcanons of mine into this thing, and I think I did a fairly decent job of what I set out to do. 
> 
> I really wanted to make this a story about history. Not just by having it be a collection of period pieces, but by showing how the past impacts the future. Not everyone gets a happy ending in life, but it is possible to enjoy your life while it lasts, despite the hardships, and you can always pave the way for future generations to live better lives than you did. 
> 
> I'm gonna leave this AU be for a while, I think, but I would like to return to it someday. Not with the Batfamily, but I'd like to explore how the Arrowfamily would develop in this world, and how their lives would be different from the Batfamily's. So look out for that in the future, I guess? 
> 
> And if you liked this, please leave a comment!


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